Over Mr. Templeton's shoulder, Rotherby and his mother, who--drawn by the overpowering excitement that was mastering them--had approached in silence, were examining the document with wide-open, startled eyes, fearing by very instinct, without yet apprehending the true nature of the revelation that was to come. “God!” shrieked her ladyship, who took in the meaning of this thing before Rotherby had begun to suspect it. “'Tis a forgery!” “That were idle, when the original entry in the register is to be seen in, the Church of St. Antoine, madam,” answered Mr. Caryll. “I rescued that document, together with some letters which my mother wrote my father when first he returned to England--and which are superfluous now--from a secret drawer in that desk, an hour ago.” “But what is it?” inquired Rotherby huskily. “What is it?” “It is the certificate of the marriage of my father, the late Lord Ostermore, and my mother, Antoinette de Maligny, at the Church of St. Antoine in Paris, in the year 1689.” He turned to Mr. Templeton. “You apprehend the matter, sir?” he demanded, and recapitulated. “In 1689 they were married; in 1692 she died; yet in 1690 his lordship went through a form of marriage with Mistress Sylvia Etheridge, there.” Mr. Templeton nodded very gravely, his eyes upon the document before him, that they might avoid meeting at that moment the eyes of the woman whom the world had always known as the Countess of Ostermore. “Fortunate is it for me,” said Mr. Caryll, “that I should have possessed myself of these proofs in time. Does it need more to show how urgent might be the need for my suppression--how little faith can be attached to an accusation levelled against me from such a quarter?” “By God--” began Rotherby, but his mother clutched his wrist. “Be still, fool!” she hissed in his ear. She had need to keep her wits about her, to think, to weigh each word that she might utter. An abyss had opened in her path; a false step, and she and her son were irrevocably lost--sent headlong to destruction. Rotherby, already reduced to the last stage of fear, was obedient as he had never been, and fell silent instantly. Mr. Templeton folded the papers, rose, and proffered them to their owner. “Have you any means of proving that this was the document you sought?” he inquired. “I can prove that it was the document he found.” It was Hortensia who spoke; she had advanced to her lover's side, and she controlled her amazement to bear witness for him. “I was present in this room when he went through that desk, as all in the house know; and I can swear to his having found that paper in it.” Mr. Templeton bowed. “My lord,” he said to Caryll, “your contentions appear clear. It is a matter in which I fear I can go no further; nor do I now think that the secretary of state would approve of my issuing a warrant upon such testimony as we have received. The matter is one for Lord Carteret himself.”